


Gone

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has to deal with loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

## Gone

by Sammy

Author's homepage: <http://members.tripod.com/~LittleSammy/index.htm>

Disclaimers: Not mine. Who would have guessed. 

Notes: I did something I had sworn to myself never to do. I wrote a death story. 

I didn't want to, but I went to bed with this scene, and Blair wanted to suffer in my head. Then I woke up with this scene, which is a lousy way to start the day. And then I began to write this out of my system, and I hated every minute of it, and I cried like shit. Yes, I know, it's stupid. 

Warnings: Death story. (And this is not a spoiler, since it is very clear from the very first line.) 

* * *

The funeral was... well, it had been nice, he guessed. Appropriate. 

Fact was, Blair really didn't remember much of the service. And the few impressions that stuck to his mind were somehow the most painful ones. 

Like the few times he'd waited for Jim's hand on his back, steadying him and offering the comfort of touch like he had done a hundred times. Or when he had longed to turn around and lean against his friend... only to realize that it was _Jim_ lying in that fucking casket, Jim, _his_ Jim, his life... his soul. 

He remembered talking to Simon briefly, and the older man asking him how he felt. Blair's throat had tightened painfully, and he had wanted to grab Simon and shake him and scream in his face 'How do you _think_ I feel?!'. Instead he'd just shook his head, murmuring a quiet "I'll be fine." And he knew that after one questioning look at his pale face Simon didn't believe a word. 

Carolyn's presence had been even worse, because she had not only offered, but needed support herself, and, naturally, she had turned to Jim's best friend for that. The one person who couldn't give it. 

He had watched her close to breaking down, and he knew that it would have been the right thing to hold her, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not when his own control was so close to crumbling. 

Through the funeral he had been remarkably calm, very quiet, showing only the pale mask of sorrow that was expected of him, while the real pain, the gut-wrenching one that would come later and would tear his heart out, was carefully tucked away behind thick walls that held his emotions at bay. 

And then, all of a sudden, he had caught a few words about Jim's services, and it had made his heart clench with the bright, selfish pain of the thought that he didn't care what good Jim _could_ have done, that he didn't care at all about the other people's lives Jim had influenced. That the only thing that mattered right now was that _he_ had lost Jim. 

That was when he had run, trying to get out of there as fast as he could, not caring for the strange looks he received, ignoring the muttered condolences and offers for help, should he need something. 

The only thing he needed was his Sentinel back, dammit. 

* * *

And now he was home. A home that had been stuffed with Jim's presence, overflowing with the feeling of Jim all around him. A home that was now as cold and empty and dead as his heart. 

Blair's hand clenched around the door knob as he fought for control. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. 

He could do this. He _had_ to do this, eventually. Still - the simple act of opening a door had never been so hard. 

The loft was so empty. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself, but it didn't give him any warmth. His gaze traveled through the apartment, and all he saw was his life shattered into a million pieces that he had to put back together again somehow. And no matter how hard he tried, some of them would be missing forever. 

He swallowed hard and turned towards the kitchen. Maybe there was something to drink left. Yes, getting drunk definitely sounded good right now. 

Just then he saw the pile of used cups and plates in the sink, and he remembered the promise to 'clean it up right after we get back'. The promise he had given Jim over a week ago. 

His hands clenched into fists as he fought hard for control. No, man. No way would he break down in a stupid kitchen. 

He breathed out in a sobbing sigh as he slipped out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then stepped towards the sink. Time to keep his promise. 

* * *

Blair's hands gripped the railing of the balcony tighter as his eyes took in the view of downtown Cascade. God, he felt so numb inside. He'd rushed down one beer after the other until his head had started to feel all fuzzy. It didn't take much, since he hadn't eaten all day... Blair swallowed and put the bottle down. Thinking of food right now was definitely not an option. As he turned back towards the living room, he felt sick suddenly. 

He'd busied himself with cleaning the loft the better part of the day, and now everything looked fresh and clean... and even more empty, robbed of the last traces of Jim's presence. So many things Blair had touched today hadn't changed a bit since Jim was gone. And still, they didn't feel the same any more. 

* * *

The quick shower just cleaned him up, but provided no real refreshment. His gaze kept wandering to the shelf that held Jim's bathroom stuff, and he couldn't get his mind off the thought that he'd have to get rid of this, too. God damn. 

Slowly he tilted his head back and let the hot water run across his face. Wishing it would be able to wipe away the tears that made his eyes burn because they never came. 

* * *

When he came back out of the bathroom, the phone rang, and he stared at it for a few seconds before he realized he was supposed to answer it. Just then the answering machine picked up. Jim's voice on the tape. 

His heart clenched into a tight knot, and he almost screamed in pain as he jumped across the room, picking up the receiver to make the fucking machine shut up. 

"Blair?" Simon, still concerned. 

"Yes." 

"Blair, are you all right? Listen, if you need someone to..." 

"Simon, I don't want to talk about it." he cut the offer short, not sure how long he could keep his voice from cracking. He listened to Simon objecting for a while, but nothing his friend said could really reach him, and so he excused himself, slamming down the receiver before he could do or say something that might be considered stupid. 

* * *

He got himself another beer then and went to sit on the couch, and he did all of this stark naked because there was no one there to object. When he felt the cool night chill creep into the room, he just drew the comforter down and around his shoulders. 

He knew he was stalling, but he couldn't help it. This was the first night since... the first night that he was completely on his own again. The first night back in the loft that was so empty now and devoid of life that he didn't know if he could face it. He knew he had to sleep sometime, but somehow it seemed a lot easier to just stay here until he collapsed into a drunken stupor than to accept the fact that he would be utterly alone in his bed, with no Sentinel watching over him from upstairs. His eyes went up to Jim's room at the thought. 

He hadn't been there all day, avoiding it like hell, but now it was just what he needed. The one place were there might be something of Jim's presence left behind. The one place were he might not feel so alone, so very much left behind. 

* * *

His hand clenched around the metal railing almost painfully as he reached the top of the stairs, and he barely felt the comforter slip from his bare shoulders and pool around his feet. 

He had been wrong. This room was as dead as the others. 

Slowly Blair moved to explore the room, opening drawers, pulling out stuff, but what he found were just shirts, and socks, and notebooks, and some silly photos of a Sentinel and his guide that they'd taken in one of these photo booths, and finally he sat down on the floor, wrapping his arms around his naked knees and rocking back and forth, his eyes burning with unshed tears. 

So much stuff left of one man's existence, and yet nothing of his essence. 

His gaze fell on the bed, and without really noticing it, he moved across the room and crawled between the sheets. His hands grabbed the cool sheets as he drew them up around his body, and he pressed his nose into the pillows, desperate for just a little trace of Jim, anything, just a hint of his smell, but there was nothing left except the cool smoothness of a bed that hadn't been used for a week. He inhaled deeply, burying his face into the soft pillow as he desperately wished for Sentinel senses, although he knew that maybe even those couldn't have picked up anything. 

A sob was all that left his throat, one small sound that hurt so much. Shaking, he wrapped his arms around the pillows, drawing them against his chest. Seeking comfort and finding none. 

* * *

A strange feeling woke him, and after a few frantic heartbeats he realized that it was the presence of someone else that had stirred him. How long had he been asleep? 

He turned his head to look at the clock, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the dark form sitting in the chair beside the bed. He bolted upright, and the next thing he saw was that the room was still ripped apart, the contents of various drawers spread across the floor, and he knew that it wasn't really Jim sitting in the damn chair. Couldn't be. 

"God, no." he whispered, and the brief flash of hope he'd felt, hope that this had all been just a stupid dream, was almost worse than the pain of losing Jim the first time. "Don't do this to me." His voice cracked, and the sound made the dark silhouette move until he could make out his Sentinel's features. 

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered, and it almost made Blair scream with grief, and rage, and pain. 

Blair leaned forward and ran a hand through his tousled hair, pushing it violently out of his face. He felt the gaze of very blue eyes rest on him, but he kept his face turned away, refusing to meet the scrutinizing stare. When he heard the quiet apology, he shook his head. He'd longed for Jim's presence, yes, but this was not what he had been looking for. This wasn't comfort. This was just agony. "Leave me alone." Like you did before. 

"You have to let go of the pain, chief." the quiet voice answered, and he shivered at the sound that was so much Jim it hurt. "Let go of me." 

"I can't." he whispered, and his throat was so tight all of a sudden it took a real effort to speak. "I love you too much." 

There was no answer to that, and after a while he turned his head to find Jim staring at him with a strange expression on his face. A rough laugh escaped him, a raw sound that spoke of his bleeding heart. "You're a fucking ghost, man. You're supposed to know these things." 

"I knew for a long time, Blair. Almost since I fell in love with you." 

He caught his breath, and when he met the blue eyes of his friend again, he found him very sincere. "You bastard." he hissed, and his lips drew back in a snarl, but even while he spoke, the pain took over and swallowed the anger. He doubled over, moaning, curling up into a tight ball. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

There was no answer, and the silent room was filled with the harsh breathing of a trembling guide. Finally a small sound slipped through Blair's lips, something that was both a laugh and a sob. "I used to think we had all the time in the world, you know." he whispered, his hands clenching around his upper arms tight enough to leave bruises. "I just knew there would be one day were I would simply turn around and find you kissing me, and it would be all right, and good, and everything would turn out okay. If I'd just known..." His voice broke, and he couldn't go on, and so he buried his face into the sheets instead, dry sobs shaking his body for a long time. 

A soft touch startled him, strong fingers stroking his hair carefully. His body tensed as he felt the briefest brush of lips against his forehead. Not cold, but deceptively warm and so very much alive it made him hurt even more. 

"You are such a male." He heard the words as a soft whisper against his cheek, felt lips widen in a sad smile, and all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around his friend and never let him go. His body started to shake even harder as he fought down the pain that threatened to split him apart. "You're mourning only the endless possibilities of 'what could have been' instead of cherishing what we had." 

Blair shook his head, his eyes tightly shut, and he felt Jim's fingers weave into his hair, stroking his neck gently. "I never had to tell you that I loved you. You already knew it, 'cause you felt it every time I touched you." 

His eyes hurt and burned, and he curled up tighter as Jim's voice was a sweet caress against his skin. "I didn't want to go, chief, but I had to. And now _you_ have to let go." 

Lips brushed over his temple, a silent good-bye, and then he was alone again, and suddenly all the carefully build walls crashed, flooding him with pain and sorrow like a tidal wave. He cried out, a long, wailing scream that left his throat sore and his heart bleeding like a well of sorrow. 

His hands clenched into fists as he buried his face into the pillow, crying out his pain in burning tears that streamed from his face for the very first time since his soul mate's death. And finally, finally, after a long time the screams and cries died down until only a whisper was left, a few words that hurt so much more. 

"I miss you so much." 

* * *

End Gone.

 


End file.
